Those Ravishing Refrains
by SnivaliceLlover
Summary: Whilst preparing for her wedding, Christine finds herself having the need to sing one last song with her Angel of Music. So, in the dead of night, she flees to where she finds Erik waiting for her. Influenced primarily by ALW's Phantom of the Opera, and the sequel Love Never Dies. Inspired Love Never Dies 'Beneath the Moonless Sky'.
1. And, I Touched You

'Now Christine, if you could just raise your arm slightly. Colette, bring me the scissors'.

The seamstress was busy gathering fabric under Christine's arm, as a young maid darted across the room to fetch the required tool. It was late afternoon in Paris, and the day's humidity seemed to be trapped within the claustrophobic boutique. For hours now, Christine had been plied with ice-cool beverages, and sweat had been mopped off her brow with cloths, yet the heat never seemed to wan. It was trapped amongst the boxes and rolls of fabric, and lurked in the dark corners. Paris was going through a heat-wave, and it did nothing to lessen Christine's dislike for hot weather.

She sighed, and turned her gaze away from where she had been looking out of the window, and back to her reflection. She had been standing on a pedestal for a few hours now, as fabric was draped, pinned and cut to her precise measurements, and she was beginning to feel her temper growing terse as her boredom increased.

It certainly was one thing to agree to Raoul's suggestion that a couture, made-to-measure wedding dress would be the perfect wedding gift from him, yet another to actually be going through all the tedious fittings, strict dietary control and stern gaze of the head dressmaker.

The hours spent in this room had stretched to beyond tolerable, and it took all of Christine's restraint not to rip out of this heavy dress, run out of the shop and jump into the Seine.

'So, we have agreed on the Chantilly lace for the sleeve edging, mademoiselle?' The seamstress' enquiry made Christine look down at her, and nod in agreement.

'Yes, that's what the Vicomte thought most appropriate', Christine responded, and turned back to where her reflection gazed passively back at her.

The dress was going to be spectacular, yes. Nothing short of the best money and taste that money could buy. The boned corset gave her the womanly shape her dancer body lacked, and the cream neckline set off her skin perfectly. Yet, deep down, she could not help miss the old costumes that Madame Giry would fit her in. The glittering jewels in her hair that she wore when singing her Hannibal aria, or even the layers of tulle that she was accustomed to whilst being in the corps de ballet. They were always bright, cheerful and hard-wearing. Unlike this garment that she wore now. The dress that felt as delicate as gossamer, and cost thrice as much as even the most elaborate stage costume.

She dare not voice her opinions to Raoul though. He would just brush it off, call her 'Little Lotte' and tweak her nose. He never liked being reminded of Christine's days at the Opera. And with good reason too.

Six months had passed since that fateful night where Don Juan Triumphant met its first and final performance. Six months since she had been forced to choose between a life of eternal darkness and music, or sunshine and sweet love. Six months since she had last seen him.

Erik. Her Angel of Music.

Like his namesake, Erik had disappeared into the night like a phantom. The Opera House had succumb to the flames of that night, and scandal had rampaged through the street. There had been talk of abduction, of murder and of obsessive love. She and Raoul had remained virtual prisoners in the de Chagny estate for weeks afterwards, as eager reporters pressed themselves against the gates and begged for their story. But she dare not. She had promised Erik that she wouldn't say anything. She had promised him.

And Christine never wanted to disappoint her mentor.

'Mademoiselle Daaé? Care to discuss the veil? We have some preliminary sketches here'. The seamstress had moved away from underneath Christine's arm, and held out a swatch of papers. On them, Christine could see intricate drawings of lace, and embroidery.

The thought of remaining in the building for one second more made her heart race. Christine furrowed her brow, and put on her most apologetic smile.

'Well, I'm afraid not Madame. My fiancé will begin to worry about where I've got too. But, I can rearrange for another date, if that is possible?' she questioned. The seamstress pursed her lips, but nodded graciously.

'Of course. Forgive me, the time has simply swept away. Shall we say… a week? At one?' The seamstress enquired, consulting a small leather diary.

'Of course. Sounds perfect. Thank you for your tireless efforts today. The dress looks already looks marvellous', Christine trailed her fingertips down the silken waist. The hidden mother-of-pearl clasps were beginning to dig into her hips, but Christine did not wish to say a negative word. Any comment could prolong this already lengthy fitting.

'Let me unpin you then'.

As the seamstress extracted her out of the heavy fabric, Christine could barely contain her excitement. A week away! It felt like a holiday. She already had plans to spend tomorrow just lounging in the tall grass of the de Chagny estate, in her most loose-fitting and light dress. She wanted to fall asleep with the feeling of sunlight caress her skin, and wake to shiver under the chill breeze of night air. Tonight, she was going to beg Raoul for a retelling of the stories that her father told them as children, and perhaps she would sing. She hadn't sung in such a long while.

'Do you need us to call you a carriage?' The seamstress remarked as she laced Christine back into her own clothes.

'No. I shall be quite safe getting home'. Earlier that day she had left Raoul in the company of his friends, and as she had spent the majority of her life in this bustling city, she didn't feel the need to have somebody accompany her back to where she would find him. The seamstress paused on her back.

'But, surely it is not safe for such a young lady to walk through the streets at such a late hour?' she questioned.

'I can assure you, I will be-'

'She will not be alone'. A familiar voice made Christine look up. A dark, tall figure was looming in the doorway, and Christine felt her heart drop.

'It can't be…' she muttered.


	2. And, I Felt You

'Madame Giry!' Christine exclaimed, and darted towards her former mentor with her arms extended. She hadn't seen any of her former associates from the Opera Populaire since the night of Don Juan, and had often wondered about sending a letter to where she knew the Giry's had taken up residency. But something had always stopped her. Memories of the last time she had seen Meg, or even her ex-ballet tutor stopped her. During her rendition of 'Past the Point of No Return', she had glanced over towards the wings of the stage, and seen Madame Giry and Meg watching as she, Christine, once again fell under the spell of Erik's voice.

After fleeing to the de Chagny's estate, she didn't know if she could face them again.

'My dear Christine', Madame Giry caught Christine's hands and pulled her into a warm embrace. The feel of the ballet teacher's arms took Christine back to all those years ago, when Christine was a tiny wisp of a girl who arrived to the dormitories of the Opera in grief and heartbreak. Madame Giry had showered her in affection for a few days, and always had a hug ready for whenever Christine needed comfort.

'It's been too long' Christine remarked, and pulled back from the embrace to look at the familiar face of her tutor. To her surprise, Madame Giry had aged significantly in those few months apart. She looked stressed, and lines had appeared on the once-youthful face. It was as though she had been put under a lot of pressure and strain in a short amount of time.

'It has, my dear. We have so much to discuss. Including your nupitals', she glanced down at Christine's right hand. The ring that Christine had worn on a chain now adorned her slender finger, and glittered dimly in the light. Christine looked down, and twisted it self-consciously. Truthfully, Christine found the thing a bit repulsive. She had always preferred small and delicate jewelry, and the diamond constantly got caught on all her clothing. But Raoul loved it. And that's all that mattered.

'Yes. Of course you're invited!' Christine blurted out, her face flushing red. Madame Giry must be finding her incredibly rude. No contact for months, and no invitation to her wedding.

The ballet teacher only smiled in response, and laced her arm through Christine's, pulling her towards the exit.

Christine turned to smile at her neglected seamstress apologetically. 'Once again Madame, thank you for your efforts. I'll be back in a week'.

The seamstress raised an eyebrow at her hasty departure, but wisely decided not to say anything about it. 'Mademoiselle, it has been a pleasure'.

Madame Giry pulled her out of the shop and into the Parisian heat.

'Shall we take tea before it return you?'

Christine happily agreed.

* * *

'Meg? Meg is well. Working as an assistant school mistress, and still performing of course. I fear she finds everyday lift outside the Opera slightly daunting though'. Madame Giry raised the teacup to her lips. She and Christine were taking tea outside a small café near the Tuileries, and the setting sun against the river brought a delightful breeze off the river. The heat of the afternoon had subsided slightly, and for the first time that day, Christine felt that she could relax properly. The two women had been making small talk for some time now, and this was the first time they brought up their old life.

'Well, we did live in quite a closeted world. Opulant, but small' Christine agreed.

'Some may call it a cage. Perfect for songbirds like yourself. Tell me Christine, do you still sing?' Giry asked, setting the cup down upon its saucer. The ballet mistress looked tired as she watched Christine. It must have been an exhausting upheaval. From having a secure existence in the Opera house to scrounging for work in the mean streets of the city.

'Not for a while. I haven't had the time. Or, the drive, I suppose. I do miss it, of course'. Christine shrugged, looking down at her lap and rearranging the napkin in discomfort. She was lying about having the time. For weeks, she had been floating around Raoul's estate, looking for something to pass her time with. She had taken up, and quickly disregarded embroidery, and had read countless books. She guessed that's why women had children so soon after their wedding. To pass the time with.

'And you haven't had the teacher either'. These words made Christine's head shoot up. Madame Giry wore a wary expression, as though she was walking in dangerous territory. Christine's throat was suddenly very dry, and she hastily took a large and impolite sip of tea.

'..I suppose not. But, planning this wedding has been tiring'. Christine tried to drag the subject away from Erik. It was still too painful.

'Do you ever wonder what happened to him?' Madame Giry ignored her efforts of moving the conversation away. Christine knew it was time to face to the music that had been haunting her waking moments.

'I expect he perished in the fire. He didn't seem… eager to leave his home'. T

The last time Christine had seen Erik, she had pressed a tearful kiss to his hand and handed him back his ring. Without his wig and mask, the Phantom looked somehow younger and much older. His eyes were full of tears, and his expression showed the vulnerability that he usually hid. His last words were half-sung. Full of agony and longing.

_Christine…. I love you. _

How that _tormented_ her. She had paused before turning away from him finally. Part of her wanted to run from him, and live in Raoul's beautiful estate with her childhood friend.

But part of her… A significantly larger part of her wanted to run back, take his hand and bestow kisses upon his deformed face.

'No, the gendarmerie didn't recover a body. Trinkets, however. They brought up a musical box in the shape of a barrel organ'.

Christine smiled. With clarity, she could hear that particular artefact's haunting melody in her mind. She wondered what they did with it. Destroyed it, or shoved it in an unmarked box in a station somewhere.

'Ah, yes. I knew that oddity'.

Madame Giry nodded and glanced down to her teacup. They both grew silent. Christine knew that her old friend was hiding something from her, but she knew that from years of living in the same quarters, Madame Giry would never reveal her secrets willingly.

'Madame. I hate to cut this short but Raoul woul-'

'He's alive Christine'. Madame Giry cut her off. Christine's mouth fell open. If such a thing were true, Christine swore that her very insides turned to ice.

'And he wants to see you. One last time'.


	3. And, I Heard Those Ravishing Refrains

'Alive? How? Where is he? How is he?' Christine paused, and looked down to her lap. 'Not that I care, of course'.

'For a girl who cares so little, so many questions plague her mind. Careful Christine, you are forgetting yourself', Madame Giry said. Ever since revealing the secret, the dancer seemed to have deflated slightly, and relief was palpable on her face. Christine wasn't surprised at all. She knew that if Erik had wanted Madame Giry to find her, he would have bullied the ballet teacher endlessly. To her, he reminded her of a dog with a bone.

Christine's mind was racing. How could Erik be alive? Did he sneak out of the Opera House through the underground lake? Or was he smuggled out? Did he miss her?

_NO CHRISTINE, _she thought. _Don't go down that route. You are to be married. You love Raoul. Your Angel of Music turned into the Red Death before your very eyes. Don't you remember that? _

'It was Meg and I. We found him before the mob did'. Madame Giry's eyes clouded over, and pain radiated out of her face. 'When we arrived, there was broken glass everywhere and all his paintings had been ripped to shreds. He was just sitting on his organ, with his head bowed. It was as though he had just given up. When Meg touched his shoulder—' she paused, the words hesitating on her lips, '—his head just snapped up, and when he saw Meg, his expression just died. I think he was expecting somebody else, my dear'.

Christine's eyes filled with tears. When Erik had dismissed her from his sight, Raoul had all but carried Christine to the boat, and into the depths of the underground tunnels that finally emerged on the outskirts of Paris. Christine could remember lying down in the boat, and pressing her face against the cloak that Erik had clearly just thrown in here, thinking he'd be fetching it later. It smelt like wax, parchment, ink and paint. Whilst she was lying there, she let tears flow down her checks, unchecked and unbothered.

When they had arrived at the de Chagny residence, Raoul demanded that Christine's wedding dress be ripped off and destroyed. However, Christine was loathed to part with it. Yes, the sentiment was disturbing, but the thought and devotion that went into it was something uniquely Erik. When she saw herself in the mirror, she could not help but admire the cut and couture of the gown. It was measured perfectly to her body shape, and incredibly comfortable. The neckline was flattering to her pale skin, and the skirt was perfect for twirling in. Christine did feel like a princess when she wore it.

She could not help but feel her new gown from Raoul would pale in significance to this. Truthfully—and it took a lot to say it—Raoul paled in significance to her Angel of Music.

'Somehow we managed to get him to snap out of his stupor, and with that, he led us through the vaults of the theatre, and into the night. We've been moving him around. But now, he seems quite settled. And he wants to see you'.

Christine cleared her throat. She wanted to sound calm and confident in response, but she hated how small and weak her voice sounded when it came out.

'Well, that's all well and good. But does he consider that I may not want to see him'.

Of course she was kidding herself. Her whole body was screaming to go and meet Erik, and succumb to those beautiful and dizzying heights of music. But duty first. She did love Raoul. Whether it be the romantic type— or the friendship and devotion that she felt for that young boy who ran into the see to fetch her scarf—was another matter.

'He does understand that. So that's why he told me to say that, after this one meeting with me, I wasn't to bother you again with these requests. This is the only time he is going to contact you. This is your last chance to see him. And he promises that'.

Christine's tea had gone cold by this time, but she hardly noticed as she brought the cup to her lips. Her head was still buzzing with overlapping thoughts.

In her mind's eye, a symphony of pictures all moved together. She could see herself, standing in her dressing room, and pressing her hands against the cold glass that separated herself and Erik. Tears had been pouring down her face as she begged him to let her see him, yet his beautiful reply – music that, even now, warmed her insides, and chilled her down to her bones – had always been full of fear and regret.

Then, he had appeared before her, taller and more majestic than what she could ever imagine. His cloak had billowed behind him, and his bone-white mask couldn't contain his dark eyes that glimmered in the dull light. He had grasped her hand and led her down that darkened labyrinth, to his home of a thousand candles. On the journey down, she had wondered if they were traversing to the very pit of Hell itself.

There, he had sung to her, and showed her all the treasures that he had kept so long hidden from other prying eyes.

_Those times,_ Christine thought_. Those were the good times. _

She could also remember the feel of terror when she had revealed his mottled cheek. It was more surprise that anything else, and she hated the fact that she screamed. How he recoiled! How the expression he wore depicted such hurt, yet such pity. He knew she would react in such a way.

Her Erik. The man that gave her the voice that could effortlessly fly across octaves. The man that taught her that obsession, and music, and darkness were as beautiful as flowers in an orchid. The Angel that worshipped the very feet that ran from him, and into the arms of another man.

How could she deny him? One last song, a requiem, if anything. A requiem for what could have been, and what will never be again.

'Can I have a night? To consider?' Christine already knew that she would accept, but she didn't want to seem too eager. One more night, one night when she just had Raoul, and not the thought of Erik crowding her thoughts.

'Of course. I'll deliver you back to your fiancé tonight, and tomorrow… I'll be waiting. Outside the Opera House at noon. Come with whatever answer you wish to give. My dear—', Madame Giry laid her hand atop of Christine's. '—No matter what, it's been a pleasure to see you. I hope we remain friends after this'.

'Of course we will, Madame. I promise you that'.


	4. The Music of Your Pulse

'Little Lotte, you seem distracted tonight,' Raoul remarked, and Christine felt him tug lightly on one of her curls. After her meeting with Madame Giry, Christine had returned to the de Chagny mansion in a daze, and had spent the remainder of the afternoon in her chambers, mulling over what her choice was to be. She had paced up and down for hours, not even bothering to change out of her tight gown and outside shoes. By the end, when Raoul had arrived home, she had gotten no further in making a decision. Raoul had called up to her room, but she had feigned bathing in order to delay his visit. She knew that after their marriage they would share rooms, and privacy was never going to be the same again, so she relished in it now.

Eventually, she had given in her relentless pacing and had changed into something suitable for dinner. Raoul had welcomed her with open arms and a deep kiss, and they dined together. He had regaled her with stories of the day, and she had made sure to laugh politely and ask enough questions not to raise suspicion. But clearly, she had not done enough. They were now sitting in the study, and Raoul had been engrossed in his letters for some time. Christine had a book on her lap, but had barely glanced at it. She was sitting on the floor, her back resting against Raoul's legs and her fingers entwined in a complicated game of cat's cradle. She turned her head, and smiled up at Raoul. He tugged on her hair once more, returning the smile but he looked worried.

'I'm fine, darling.' Raoul had been slowly introducing the idea of pet names, and would constantly shower her with his own endearments. She knew that 'Little Lotte' was never going to stop, and she found some comfort in that. The nostalgia felt pleasant, but it did not make Christine's heart clench the way that Erik's 'Angel of Music' did.

'How was your day? Forgive me for my selfishness in not asking.' He had put his letters aside now, and had turned his full attention onto the soprano.

'It was…' she tailed off. How could she put into words how her day was?

_It was boring to start off with. The wedding is exhausting me, I dislike my dress, The seamstress was haughty, I felt faint from the heat, Paris is overcrowded and full of ghosts, I met Madame Giry who told me that Erik is alive, and wishes to see me, I am nearly positive that I will see him, I am worried that you shall get bored of me or I shall get tired of you, and I have to hide all this from you now, and that is making feel that I shall cry at any moment, _Christine thought. She reached up and patted his hand.

'It was lovely. Everything is coming to plan, and I had a coffee on the river afterwards. I'm just tired' Christine said. It was the half-truth. Her whole life with Raoul was a half-truth. She half loved him, she half wanted to marry him, and she half felt utter despair when she thought of her future.

'You do look a little under the weather. But I am happy that everything is going smoothly-' He bent down and pressed a kiss against her nose. '-I do not want my bride to be exhausted on the day.' His love for her made her heart clench. How he adored her!

From a young age, Christine was surrounded by love. Their family was never big, but that did not matter to her. She could remember her mother the same way she could remember dreams. She was a slight woman, and smelt of violets. Christine knew that she was always frail, and not long for this world. But she would pick up small Christine and dance her around the sitting room. After she died, Christine's father had been her world. They revolved around each other, each feeding and depending on each other's fierce love and devotion. They sang, ate, travelled and explored the world together. He was the only friend she needed. But like a burning light, he was snuffed out, and her everything changed. She arrived in Paris full of grief and bewilderment. For the first time, she had nobody to love or care for her. She could never hide her face in her father's neck again, or against her mother's skirts. She had to tough her tears out, and swallow her hurt.

That was until Erik sang her pain away. He became a soothing balm to the raw wound that her father's death had left her. She found herself at a loss whenever he was absent, and she would weep happy tears when he came back. He was a reassuring presence, and as she grew, she started to feel other sensations whenever they sang together. Gone was the fatherly care, and now there was passion, devotion and a wildness that made her dream of darkness. It scared and thrilled her.

There was nothing but light with Raoul. And she missed her darkness the same way a drunkard misses his next bottle of wine.

'Raoul…?' she hesitated. Raoul met her eyes, and raised one eyebrow as he waited her to finish.

'If there was something you wanted, but it was morally wrong, what would you do?' Raoul sat back in his chair. He wore a thoughtful expression, as though her question was something that needed utter concentration and mulling over. Usually he took Christine's questions with an airy approach, so this was unusual.

'When you say 'morally wrong', what do you exactly mean?' he asked.

'I mean…' she struggled to answer in a way that would not give away her actions. 'Say, it could change how you perceived life. How you viewed other people. And this could be detrimental. But, you thought that, in your heart, it was the right thing to do'.

'I would say that a desire is not something to be silenced. Your time on this earth is not endless, Christine. If you, in the last moments of your life, would feel regret for never doing what your heart told you to do, than this is a wasted sort of life. For example-' he tugged at her hair once more, a soft smile curving his mouth as he looked down at her. '-If I had not listened to my heart, I would not have you here, with a ring on your finger and our wedding day swiftly approaching. And I would have felt unhappiness for the rest of my life. So, in my experience, I would say that every choice you make should be in the interest of your happiness. Is that what you're looking for in an answer?'

Christine swallowed. The indecision that squeezed her stomach painfully clenched once more. It was now or never. In her head, she could hear the stirring of music. A memory floated to the forefront of her mind. She was sitting on a stage, and delicate fingers were stroking along her neck and down the front of her costume. Erik was behind her, his face hidden behind a cloak. But she knew it was him, she knew that voice nearly as well as she knew her own.

_Past the point of no return, _

_The final threshold_

_What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn._

_Beyond the point of no return…_

'It was. I'm going to do it.' Her stomach relaxed, and calmness spread over her like a blanket. It was decided. She was past the point of no return.


End file.
